


The Trouble in my Blood

by ghostwriterofthemachine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Gen, Gods, Introspection, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pain, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Semi-Graphic Descriptons, Transformation, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterofthemachine/pseuds/ghostwriterofthemachine
Summary: Here is a fact, simple and unkind; the things that happen to you change you.Here is another; great pain changes you greatly.And here is a third, much less well known; if it changes you enough, you become a god.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 80
Collections: New SW Canon Server Works





	The Trouble in my Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I heard a lovely Darlingside song called 'God of Loss,' which is bittersweet and wonderful and very much an Obi-Wan song. 
> 
> I then thought too much about the title and turned it into this. The title is from that song.
> 
> WARNING: This is a body horror transformation fic. That's it. That's the whole thing. Please mind the tags and take care of yourself.

Here is a fact, simple and unkind; the things that happen to you change you. 

Here is another; great pain changes you greatly. 

And here is a third, much less well known; if it changes you enough, you become a god. 

.

The tears Obi-Wan cries after the Purge, alone and crumpled in a cave in Tatooine, fall from his face as kyber crystals. They paint glowing blue streaks down his face, and these markings will stay there, as much a part of his skin as the freckles on his shoulders. The skin on the tips of his fingers begins to peel away.

The Infinite Sadness twists and pushes up. It breaks through the surface, finds a home in this perfect embodiment— 

_ God of Loss, _ says something that cannot speak.

Obi-Wan’s shoulders shake harder as new bones bud up beneath the skin. There’s a crack, and his ribs break backwards. They push, lift dermis away from muscle fiber, rip their way into the air. What little blood there is drips to the sand, the wrong color and too thick. 

The bone twists up, covers itself with something downy and cold. Memory of fresh fallen show turned reality of death by hypothermia. Obi-Wan is freezing. He’s so cold. He’s always hated being cold. 

Another sob tears its way through him. Kyber crystals clink to the ground. 

The bones grow out, and out, and out. They knit together and form something new. 

Obi-Wan cries, and his hair bleaches itself translucent. It glows a cyan blue from some light source that is bubbling up from deep within his scooped-open body. 

There is power, in being the last, and the universe acknowledges it. Obi-Wan would have given it all up, to not be alone. 

He chokes on a scream. The skin on his arms slits open and new eyes blink into the dim light. He can see so much more than he ever wanted to look at, now. There is so much pain, in the universe. There is soon to be much more. The bleeding hole his family left behind is only the first blow of the new age. And every new age needs new gods. 

He barely processes any of this, as the Force shatters the parts of his joints that stop them from bending the wrong way. 

The pseudo-wings stabbing out of his back grow something that could generously be called feathers, if feathers were brittle and un-soft. Obi-Wan’s fingernails hit the cave’s floor. 

The wings glow with an inner light, like a star. Like a saber. Like the weapon of a brother, shoved clear through a heaving chest. 

_ ‘It hurts,’ _ thinks Obi-Wan, and he isn't just thinking about his body.  _ ‘It hurts, please, it hurts.’ _

**_‘But you carry it so well.’_ **

And there’s no one else left to carry it at all. 

He is the highest point on a mountain. He is sunlight reflecting on a tundra. He is a star too far away to ever explore it. He is an echoing, empty temple in the wake of a massacre. Mothers shocked silent and clutching bodies. Illum crumbling to dust. Loved children all alone A beam hitting a planet and everything going suddenly too silent. 

He is alone and he is Lost. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi screams, and the noise makes the cave around him turn to glass and shatter. 

.

Years later, rumors will float down like snowflakes— an icy god guards the Tatooine wastes. Sand crusts with ice under his feet. He weeps his blessing and you can pick it up in crystals, which will bring you luck or sooth your sleep, or you can sell them, if you really need to, for an absurd amount.

They say that, upon looking at him, his form overwhelms a viewer so much that all they can do is cry. He looks like loss. He looks like a thing which used to be loved, and isn’t anymore. 

They say he is protecting something. No one dares ask what a being of such sorrow has left to protect. 

In the caves of Tatooine, the God of Loss feels the galaxy lose ever-more, and waits, and feels, and bides his time.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a wonderful day, everyone!


End file.
